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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27131614">Moonlit Words</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/aminiatureworld/pseuds/aminiatureworld'>aminiatureworld</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>I don't think any trigger warnings apply but it's a bit depressing, I like giving characters vague tragic backstories, M/M, kinda angsty, there's a happy ending though</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:46:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,302</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27131614</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/aminiatureworld/pseuds/aminiatureworld</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>For Jaskier the night is a time for thoughts and anxieties. For Geralt it is a time when his bard seems to get little sleep but disappears a lot. This situation becomes unbearable and the two finally have a conversation about themselves and their feelings for each other.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Moonlit Words</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Sorry for how long it's been since I've written! My mental health took a bit of a hit these past few weeks, so writing was slow going. Still, I hope you enjoy this, and I hope to be back to posting every five days soon!</p><p>My thanks to my readers in the endnote!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>        Jaskier could never say that he was unlucky for being alive. The things he’d experienced, even in the first years of his life, were the kind that children would dream of. For who could say that they’d traveled the Continent with a witcher, that they’d seen the edge of the world and had been gifted an instrument by elves, that they’d seen the absolute best and worst of humanity? Who could say that they met someone said to be a monster and had fallen hopelessly in love with them? For indeed, by now Jaskier could wholeheartedly admit that he’d fallen for Geralt, had crashed and burned, and was now in the process of being eaten from the inside out with the longing. Though he also knew to say anything might be an even more painful fate. So he’d said nothing. And indeed he was grateful, and lucky too. But sometimes it hurt a bit to keep it all inside. Especially after the mountain.</p><p>        Geralt had apologized of course, and Jaskier, as angry and hurt as he was, couldn’t say no to joining him again. Especially not after meeting Ciri, after hearing that Yennefer had gone missing. How could he leave Geralt to fend for himself in such a situation? So of course Jaskier went along with Geralt. But the bard couldn’t deny that there had been a shift in the relationship between the two and that the secrets Jaskier had once thought to reveal were now locked up firmly in his thoughts. Thoughts not only of his love for the Witcher but other things, like the trials of boyhood and long-gone friends and enemies. The worst thoughts were the anxieties that kept him up ungodly hours into the night. He’d toss and turn, head spinning round and round in a litany of despair. Jaskier wanted someone to confide in, needed it even. But there was no one, and he felt a bit like he was adrift on a dark sea, continued to corrode inside, wondering if there’d ever be some sort of reprieve.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>        Geralt knew that something was wrong with Jaskier. At first Geralt had tried to ignore it, then he’d tried apologizing again, then he’d said nothing and simply watched as Jaskier seemed to slip farther and farther away. It was an agonizing thing to witness. Nightly there were the now-familiar sounds of Jaskier’s unrest, oftentimes resulting in him walking away from where the trio was camping. He’d leave for hours, hours in which Geralt felt every fiber of his being screaming at him to run after Jaskier. Not that he ever disappeared. Geralt knew Jaskier wouldn’t pull something like that, nor did Geralt have any false pretenses about Jaskier being able to defend himself against vagabonds and the like. Jaskier was lethal with a knife, something that secretly thrilled Geralt. Still, monsters were a different matter altogether, and though Geralt was always careful to camp where they’d be least likely to disturb any creatures lurking who knew where the bard went in the night. And the Witcher knew too well there were some things in the world worse than the monsters around oneself.</p><p>        That wasn’t the only alarm though. Geralt sometimes marveled that he’d ever complained about Jaskier talking too much. Not that Jaskier was completely silent, no, perhaps that’d be too obvious. Still, the times when Jaskier made stray comments about something he’d learned at Oxenfurt or asked questions about Geralt’s adventures appeared to be over. Now it was asking if he was going too slow, commenting about whether there’d be a storm, and every so often letting a short hum pass his lips before the melody inevitably stopped short, replaced by a nervous smile. It threw Geralt off guard, more than he’d like to admit, and suddenly the Witcher began to realize how little he knew of Jaskier’s thoughts, much less of his past. The contrast was even more apparent when traveling with Ciri, who was in the habit of mentioning things that reminded her of home or asking Geralt, and now Jaskier as well, about things such as her parents and her grandmother. Jaskier answered those questions readily enough at least, but now even Valdo Marx seemed to become forbidden territory, and when Geralt offhandedly mentioned the incident with the djinn Jaskier simply chuckled and pointed out a particularly lovely patch of daisies.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>        The fire flickered lazily, reflecting perhaps the hot day that’d come before the night. These were the worst nights for Jaskier since sleep never came easily to him on the best of days it seemed, and the heat was bound to make things a hundred times worse. He’d tried to stave off the others, had spent extra time telling Ciri about various friends and acquaintances of her grandmother and parents, ignoring Geralt’s grumbling that fatigue was deadly for warriors. He’d even broken out the lute, something that hardly ever happened these days in front of other people, for his instrument had become a companion of the night when he could steal away from the campfire, rather than something to be enjoyed out in the open. It was too personal now. Still he’d sung a few songs, the usual fare that people at taverns liked best, and managed to get himself about an hour and a half of time before the inevitable grumblings from Geralt became snappish and it was time to sleep. Well, for the others to sleep at least.</p><p>        Jaskier lay down as always, throwing off the noisy blanket with the pretense it was too hot, and closed his eyes. He stayed like that for some time, waiting for Geralt’s breathing to hit the length and depth that betrayed the Witcher as fully meditative, before sitting up and grabbing his case. A part of him nagged at this stealing away once more, but it was easily ignored. He needed this, needed some time where he could be alone, could be fully himself, fully aware of all the pain and anxiety that was kept tightly corked in the daytime. So he looked around him, making sure that nothing was out of place from where he left it, and slowly crept out of the glade and into the welcoming trees beyond.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>        Geralt’s surprise at Jaskier’s nighttime excursions had by this point vanished. It’d become such a routine part of the night that the Witcher couldn’t even find himself surprised at his companion’s reticence to lie down, his insistence on tiptoeing around the idea of going to sleep. Still, the whole activity sat wrong with Geralt, and this night was no different. Maybe it was even worse, for try as he might Geralt couldn’t stop the thoughts spinning round his head. Visions of broken ribs, twisted ankles, shadows that maimed and stabbed and killed, they all lined themselves up in an exhaustive litany in his head. It was ridiculous of course, Jaskier was many things but though the bard was sometimes foolish he was never an idiot. Still, perhaps Jaskier’s leaving and Yennefer’s disappearance had taught him something, for Geralt now stood up, rolling the stiffness out of his shoulders. He walked over to Ciri’s bedroll, shaking her gently. “Whaddya want?” came the response, for by this time Ciri had stopped jumping every time Geralt went to wake her up, something that had originally hurt the Witcher to see, a reminder of how many lives were ruined by the greed of men, a reminder that his family was a band of various survivors.</p><p>        “Jaskier went off, I’m going to look for him. You know where the weapons are. Whatever you do –“</p><p>        “Don’t fall asleep yeah, yeah.” Ciri sat up and waved her hand dismissively. “About time you go after the poor fellow, what’s it been three months?”</p><p>        “Yeah.” Geralt replied, impressed, as he’d never thought that Ciri would’ve noticed. The surprise must’ve shown somehow for Ciri smirked and made a pushing motion.</p><p>        “Go off and get Jaskier, he’s waiting, whether he knows it or not. Besides you’re all awfully annoying as you are right now.” Geralt shook his head and rolled his eyes, but still, a smile came to his face, and as he stalked out into the woods, trying to track where the bard went, he found himself thinking, survivors or not, he was very lucky with the family he had indeed.</p><p>        The moon was a sliver in the sky, barely enough light for a human to make out a few fingers in front of their face. Geralt, of course, had no issue picking himself throw the overgrown, well could one even call it a path? The marks of Jaskier on the other hand were much more evident, brambles bent and crooked, marks in the cool, wet earth. If someone had wanted to come after the bard locating him would’ve been no trouble. Still, the air seemed clear enough, and Geralt could hear no anomalies in the normal nocturnal comings and goings, something he found himself grateful for. Ears straining to hear any mark of the bard, Geralt finally caught a few scraps of Jaskier’s voice, although the sounds were hardly intelligible. Using Jaskier’s voice as a guide, Geralt found himself veering off the path, into a particularly lovely group of trees, all greenery, leaves puffing out in perfect circles like mushrooms, although the stars could still be seen through the gaps. Stepping silently near the one with the lowest branches Geralt made to call out, but finally, the words hit him, and the Witcher could do nothing but listen.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>        “Well it’s not like I wouldn’t still like that bastard to rot. I mean really, the amount of groveling I did in my youth.” Jaskier sighed, leaning back into the cool comfort of the tree. It was really too easy to talk to himself. He was swallowed up by his own words. His lute was swung about his stomach, carefully protected from being smashed, but Jaskier had yet to play it. For now he was simply talking with himself, releasing all the pent up frustration. It wasn’t a two-way conversation, not by any stretch of the imagination, but in a way Jaskier didn’t mind that either. After all, didn’t other people always act like you said the wrong thing?</p><p>        “Not that I’ve stopped groveling. Damn it’s a miracle I left Geralt instead of beginning for forgiveness or something. Before coming right back of course! Can’t ever explain myself can I? Not that I still don’t love the damn idiot, but it hurt. It hurts to be disposable. But no one ever thinks like that do they? I don’t even think like that. Still, oh I don’t know. It hurts of course, but that’s nothing new.” Sighing Jaskier gazed up at the sky. “I wonder if the stars feel cold and lonely. Do they talk to themselves? Do the gods do so, all up in their marbled palaces, away from us all? Maybe they’re all lonely, and that’s the secret.” Sighing once more Jaskier made a halfhearted attempt to open his lute case. The cap he was wearing, really Jaskier now couldn’t live without his hats, fluttered off his head, and, too afraid to crush his instrument, Jaskier waited for the sound of it hitting the mossy ground beneath. When that didn’t come he leaned over, trying to keep his weight as centered as possible so as not to fall and wreck his lute, and, squinting a bit in the dark, found himself face to face with the last person on the Continent he’d like to have heard his ramblings.</p><p>        “Jaskier.” Geralt’s voice seemed odd to Jaskier’s ears. He loved Geralt’s voice, it’s deep tone and slow cadence, Jaskier had always suspected the Witcher could be one hell of a storyteller if he wished to be. Geralt’s voice was steadying, but now it only threw Jaskier into a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts, most of them various levels of embarrassment.</p><p>        “Geralt!” Jaskier’s voice on the other hand was quite squeaky, hardly the dignified tenor the bard was known for. Still, acting cool in such a situation was out of the question, for Geralt had surely heard it all, damn his witcher senses. “Why’re you here?”</p><p>        “Why’re you here?”</p><p>        “I… uh… I came to relax. It’s much too hot, even without the blanket. I’m sorry if I woke you up.”</p><p>        Jaskier could make out Geralt shaking his head, his hair seeming almost like liquid silver in the faint moonlight. “I knew you weren’t going to bed. You always sleep with a blanket, even in the hottest weather.”</p><p>        “Ah.” Jaskier wasn’t sure whether to be even more embarrassed or vaguely happy that Geralt knew his habits so well. The talking, however, was a habit that Jaskier would rather no one know about, witchers absolutely included. “Well, I’m sorry to worry you, but I’m alright, really. Just want to stay out and see the stars a bit longer. You don’t have to babysit me. I know you don’t like dead weight or anything like that. Go back to bed, I’m sure Ciri needs sleep too.” No way would Geralt leave Ciri asleep alone at night; Jaskier realized with a pang how much this excursion was costing others. Still, he couldn’t go back to sleep, not now.</p><p>        “You aren’t dead weight.” The reply was so unexpected Jaskier for a minute thought he’d imagined it, that this was one of his fantasies where Geralt was understanding and receptive, and, yes, as in love with Jaskier as he was with Geralt. The breath seemed to steal from Jaskier’s lungs, and a what was forming on his lips before Geralt continued. “You don’t have to go off to talk either. I… I’ll listen to them. I want to listen to them. I want to know more about you, like before.” Geralt’s head moved, showing the Witcher had moved his gaze towards the ground. “I want to know about your past. I want to know about your feelings. I want to know your thoughts, about yourself, about those around you. About,” the pause in the air was so charged Jaskier wondered if it would shock him, “me. You aren’t disposable. And I’m sorry. About the mountain. About making you feel like you aren’t important to me. You’re my companion. My family.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>        Geralt felt as if all the air had been knocked out of him. He usually didn’t like to talk much, stringing multiple sentences together felt somehow burdensome to others. Still, the words needed to be said. More needed to be said of course. Geralt’s feelings for Jaskier had always been warm. Jaskier was the sunlight in his life, a fire that danced and crackled, brilliant and flashy, yes, but warm and comforting too. He didn’t want to think about it, not even to himself. He wasn’t brave like Jaskier, couldn’t put those words out into the universe, where they’d have such power. Still, apparently keeping them locked up harmed instead of helped. He gazed up in the tree, could see the watery quality of Jaskier’s eyes, something that only made the blue of his irises more striking. The urged seized Geralt to climb up the tree and sweep the bard into a hug. To listen to the stories of the bastard who forced Jaskier to grovel, something that swept waves of anger and sadness through Geralt, so strong for a moment he couldn’t even pin them down. He wanted to listen to Jaskier, to respond so that the bard didn’t have to respond to himself. He wanted to do that and then to talk himself, to string those tricky sentences together, to bind them and throw them haphazardly into the world where they’d fall to Jaskier’s feet, like flower petals. He wanted Jaskier to feel less alone, to feel happy. He needed to say that. How though? There seemed such a barrier, why was there always a barrier?</p><p>        “Thank you.” Jaskier was speaking now, even as his eyes continued to water and his face redden. “I know this is unexpected. And I know you don’t talk much about it. About anything really, most silent man I know.” Jaskier huffed out an awkward laugh. “You don’t have to say that just to humor me though. I just need time for myself.”</p><p>        “You don’t need to say that, don’t need to make me leave you alone.” Geralt he knew this dance, had learned the steps himself at an early age. Tell everyone it’s alright. Push them away. Let the loneliness eat you up inside as long as no one else knows. “I meant those words. I want to listen. And I want you to have someone to listen to you. I’m not letting you humor me either.”</p><p>        “You don’t understand what that means. I’m fine.”</p><p>        “No, you aren’t. And you don’t have to haul ass in a tree to hide. I don’t understand. But I want to. And that’s it.” Geralt reached for the nearest branch, and quickly found himself sitting on the same level as the bard. “I won’t force you to talk. But I also don’t want you to pretend and then spend the better half of three months running away at night to let yourself get eaten up by the feeling you repress. You always defended me against people who said witchers didn’t feel things, right? Well, I’m defending you against whatever part of your mind tells you bards don’t feel things either.”</p><p>        “Alright.” Jaskier shook his head. “I’m tired. You win. But don’t act all surprised when you don’t like what you hear.”</p><p>        “Thank you. From now on?”</p><p>        “From now on.” Jaskier nodded. “But first, sleep.”</p><p>        “What?” Geralt looked a bit as if he’d been rammed by a horse, something that made Jaskier burst out into laughter, for it all seemed so wildly hilarious now, the entire situation.</p><p>        “You left Ciri to defend on her own, didn’t you? And talking to you is exhausting.” Jaskier gazed up through the tree. “The stars will be here tomorrow. Just like my troubles. One night won’t make them go away. Even hundreds of nights won’t.” Sliding down the tree, careful to protect his lute, Jaskier landed in the moss, Geralt close behind. “You sure you meant all you said?”</p><p>        “Yes.” Geralt seemed back to his reticent self. Jaskier felt the urge to slip into his regular persona as well, but it was too late for that. Besides, he thought to himself, I don’t want to hide who I am anymore. I’m tired. And, somehow, I think it’ll be alright. After all, no one’s offered to listen before. Jaskier suddenly felt his hand enveloped in warmth. Glancing down he saw his finger intertwined with Geralt’s.</p><p>        “You sure about this?” He blurted out.</p><p>        “Yes.” Geralt replied again. “And, Jaskier?”</p><p>        “Yeah?”</p><p>        “I… I may not… I mean… you’re my friend.”</p><p>        “I hope I am!” Jaskier joked, slipping into his usual bluster. Still, it seemed as if Geralt wasn’t quite done with his thought, for he shook his head again slightly, and plowed ahead.</p><p>        “You’re my friend. But also, you’re more than that. Witchers don’t have companions. Not with our lifespans, not with the danger we put ourselves through. But, if we were to have them, if I could choose a companion… you’d be mine.”</p><p>        It wasn’t quite the same thing as Jaskier’s ramblings, honestly, nothing could compare to those, but the bard smiled anyways. Squeezing his hand Jaskier suddenly felt light. There was still so much he had locked away, still, so much he’d buried and hidden. Still, it was as if, if only for a moment, there’d been a great flash, and hope had suddenly warmed his soul. It wasn’t quite the same thing, but it was enough. And if Geralt was truly going to listen, then Jaskier was so very lucky to be alive indeed.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>My endless thanks to the 502 people who read my last Witcher fic. Special thanks to the 60 who gave it kudos, the one who commented, and the four who bookmarked it. I hope I continue to live up to your expectations and my works continue to please!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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